


The Monsters in the Box

by Uozumi



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Captivity, Dehydration, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Malcolm/Ollie (if you choose to take it that way), Malcolm/Sam (pre-fic), Minor Character Deaths (pre-fic), Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uozumi/pseuds/Uozumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost fifteen years after the inquiry, Malcolm and Ollie encounter each other at Tom’s funeral. Soon after, a foreign king creates international intrigue when he insists he will only turn himself in to Malcolm. This leads to a very dangerous situation for both Malcolm and Ollie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Monsters in the Box

**Author's Note:**

> **Title** _The Monsters in the Box_  
>  **Author** [Uozumi](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/98054/uozumi)  
>  **Fandom** _The Thick of It_  
>  **Character(s)/Pairing(s)** Jamie MacDonald, Dan Miller, Ollie Reeder, Malcolm Tucker; Malcolm/Sam (past), Malcolm/Ollie (depending on how you want to take it)   
> **Genre** Dark/Drama/Survival  
>  **Rating** PG-13 (R for language)  
>  **Word Count** 6,877  
>  **Disclaimer** The Thick of It c. Iannucci, BBC  
>  **Summary** Almost fifteen years after the inquiry, Malcolm and Ollie encounter each other at Tom’s funeral. Soon after, a foreign king creates international intrigue when he insists he will only turn himself in to Malcolm. This leads to a very dangerous situation for both Malcolm and Ollie.   
> **Warning(s)** potential spoilers for all series of _The Thick of It_ , minor character deaths pre-fic, brief description of vomit, captivity, starvation, dehydration, non-sexual choking, language (but that’s a given yeah?)  
>  **Notes** This is what happens when I take a fic break from writing an exploratory dystopian novel. Two ratings because some sites I crosspost to would like the MPAA type rating. This fic began about five incarnations ago as an exploration into five years after series four but I could never frame it properly. After talking to a friend about how we wished the show could have an epilogue, we decided Tom’s funeral would be a good setting. That gave me what I needed to jumpstart the original fic idea. Eventually, it became what it is now because it needed a plot and an ending. Since it’s been fifteen years, some things change, some things do not. I learned a lot about dehydration, starvation, and heart conditions, so if the fic fails, it was not without benefits.

**_The Monsters in the Box_ **

It was routine surgery gone wrong, or at least that was the accepted news report. Tom was dead and the shock was still affecting those who knew him best. The funeral viewing was a private affair in accordance with Tom and his widow’s wishes. Tom’s time as Prime Minister had both positive and negative aspects, but his legacy was mostly positive. He had not done anything worthy of a state funeral, however. Dan Miller was Prime Minister now, the fourth one since Tom left office. Many members of the party, both past and present were at the wake. Tom was a person who could unite people, which was possibly why he made one of the strongest teams with one of the party’s most divisive creatures.

Ollie knew Malcolm lurked somewhere in the sea of family, party, and friends. It was easy to tell who was which without too much thought. Ollie either knew them or knew of them if they were party members. The people with distinctive facial features were likely related to Tom. Then there were the people Ollie could not identify in the slightest but all seemed to be over the age of sixty, those were probably friends or maybe Tom’s in-laws. 

The funeral so far was like any other party funeral. Except that for the past five minutes, a little girl followed Ollie everywhere. She almost looked like Tom’s family members, but her hair was too dark and her eyes were too blue. She watched Ollie with fascination, remained silent and never got too close. She followed him until he got into the queue heading to pay their respects to Tom’s body and his widow. As Ollie entered the room, he saw Malcolm exiting. Malcolm moved quickly and did not notice Ollie when he passed him. 

Tom’s widow was strong. Ollie only met her a few times at party functions before Tom retired from politics. Her eyes were bloodshot, but she was gracious and accepted everyone’s sympathies quietly. It helped Ollie feel less awkward or robotic about his own condolences for her loss. 

When Ollie left the chapel, the girl reappeared from around a piece of furniture, inching her way closer to him. Ollie wanted to leave, but he did not want to be inadvertently accused of child abduction or responsible for the girl leaving the building. “You can’t keep following me,” he said to the child. “Your parents are probably worried.”

The girl hesitated and her face looked conflicted. She seemed to know Ollie was a strange and therefore someone she should not talk to, but she was also clearly separated from one or both of her parents or caretakers. She was trying to communicate nonverbally with Ollie as though he might read her mind and find whomever she needed. 

Ollie sighed. He felt like he was not good with children, though they did latch onto him from time to time. “What’s your name?” he asked. 

The girl shook her head. Her eyes did not leave Ollie’s face. 

“What’s going on here?” Dan appeared. He moved with the intention to keep from garnering unwarranted attention. Most were aware that he was here, but they respected Dan’s efforts not to shift the focus from Tom to himself. Ollie recognized a few of Dan’s security team blending into the guests around them. “You didn’t tell me you had a kid,” he said to Ollie, quietly teasing. 

“She’s not mine,” Ollie said. Now that Dan pointed it out, Ollie could see a vague resemblance, especially since the child’s hair was curly. “She just keeps following me.”

“I know she’s not yours,” Dan said. “I heard some people speculate you had a kid with you, but I think we all know by now she’s not yours. Her dad’s looking for her.” 

As if on cue, Malcolm appeared and the girl hurried over to him, latching onto his leg tightly. Malcolm picked her up and put on his best stern face, but his daughter was unfazed. The two had a whispered conversation that nobody had to hear to know the girl wanted to leave and Malcolm could not but that did not give her the right to run off. 

The more Ollie watched the pair, the more he could see Malcolm in the girl and what was not Malcolm reminded Ollie of Sam, whom Ollie honestly had not given a spare thought about in years. He could barely remember one of the older secretaries mentioning Sam dying about five years ago, possibly after giving birth. He had not paid enough attention to the overheard conversation to remember it properly now. 

“I need you to cover your ears, darling,” Malcolm said quietly to the child. The girl covered her ears obediently as though this was not a new or rare request. 

Malcolm’s attention turned to Dan and Ollie then. “If it isn’t the fucking Chuckle Brothers.” His eyes narrowed. Ollie did not have to ask to know Malcolm knew Ollie and Dan were both behind Malcolm losing his job years ago. Ollie had the impression Malcolm figured it out just minutes before the point of no return. Ollie half expected to see remnants of the emotions that flashed over Malcolm’s face in Malcolm’s office as things began to unravel back then, but all Ollie could see in Malcolm’s eyes today was pain and numbness at Tom’s unexpected death. “You’re lucky I promised not to fuck with anyone today.” 

“So, you’re going to bite us once and be done with it?” Ollie asked. 

Malcolm glowered. Before he could answer, Jamie appeared, distracting Malcolm from whatever he was about to say. “Some godfather you are,” Malcolm said to Jamie. “I saw her lurking outside the viewing room.”

“She ran off on me without warning,” Jamie said. 

The girl reached her arms out to Jamie and he took her from Malcolm. Malcolm covered his daughter’s ears and looked at Ollie and Dan. “Just pay your respects and fuck off.” 

“It was good to see you too,” Dan said. He tugged once discreetly on Ollie’s sleeve and the two slipped back into the crowd. As they left, they could hear the girl asking if that was the Prime Minister.

Malcolm slipped from Ollie’s mind in the weeks that followed. Things were tense in certain parts of the world and the entire party felt the pressure Dan was under because of it. One such country was teetering on the verge of civil war against its king for decades of human and civil rights violations. One faction sided with the royal family and its young prince, poised to take the throne. The other faction supported the right for self-government of their choosing. Dan had a trip to the UN scheduled two weeks from now. Somehow, word of Dan’s trip got out to the king, and he extended an unusual request for Dan’s visit. The accused king wanted to turn himself over to British authorities. He remembered visiting England as a young man. During his stay in the mid-90’s, the king met with leaders of various parties and vividly remembered a man about his own age who left a strong impression amongst some of the supporting governmental players from that trip. 

That request brought Ollie to the social science building at the University of Glasgow with an umbrella in the rain. He was one of the few people left in the current government that people surmised would get Malcolm to cooperate. Despite seeing Malcolm at Tom’s funeral months ago, it took a while to track the man down. Malcolm had a teaching position in the political science concentration. At the time Ollie’s information said Malcolm should emerge from the building, Malcolm appeared. He saw Ollie immediately and his face became unreadable. 

“I’d tell you to fuck off, but you look like you’d rather be eating petroleum jelly out of someone’s navel,” Malcolm said. Some students around them slowed to look at the impending confrontation. They most likely knew exactly who Ollie was and that he was Malcolm’s successor. 

Ollie adjusted the angle of his umbrella so they were both out of the rain. Malcolm was correct. Ollie was not relishing the encounter. “Do you remember a king who visited in the mid-90’s? The one rumoured to get cataract surgery soon?” He had to be vague in public. He kept his voice quiet and tried not to move his lips. 

“Should I?” Malcolm asked. He tucked his briefcase under his arm. His eyes studied Ollie’s face. He seemed to be searching for the motivation for the visit and the goals behind it. 

“He remembers you,” Ollie said, “and he wants you to come talk to him at a hospital near the UN.” 

“What do I have to fucking say to a man who tortures his own people?” Malcolm asked. “What does he have to say to me that he can’t say to the poor cunt we shelved at the UN?” Malcolm started walking away. 

Ollie followed, making a point to walk in stride with Malcolm as an equal. He would not lead and he definitely would not follow Malcolm. Once they were clear of most the students, Ollie answered, “We don’t know, but he sent word he wants to speak to you and your ‘successor’ to meet with him on Friday before his surgery.” It was customary in the king’s culture for leaders and their successors or heirs to work together unless there were mitigating circumstances such as the impending civil war that would make a dual representation impossible. 

“How long is this farce going to take?” Malcolm asked. 

“Not more than the weekend. We’d fly you in and out on Thursday and Monday or Tuesday,” Ollie said. He could see Malcolm’s brain sorting through information, calculating the options. “If you need childcare options on short notice –” 

“If I go, is the twat going to turn himself in?” Malcolm interrupted.

“That’s the rumour,” Ollie said. 

“Fine,” Malcolm said, “for the country, for the world. Not for you, not for Dan fucking Miller.” He turned his collar up against the rain. “I’ll see you on Thursday.” He walked away and Ollie let him go this time. 

On the plane on Thursday, the foreign affairs people got Malcolm up to speed on what they would allow him to know before going into the hospital room. Then they briefed Malcolm and Ollie about things to expect and possible things that might occur during their time with the king. The micromanaging continued after some MI-6 agents joined them at the hotel after they landed in New York and up until it was time for food and bed. 

On Friday morning, there was more briefing over breakfast and finally, the car came to pick up everyone at the hotel. Malcolm and Ollie had to keep low profiles. The Americans could not know about the visit until it was too late to stop it. Once the group reached the first security detail, word would be out, but they had to keep things subtle and unnoticeable until that moment. 

The elevator ride was quiet. There was not much more to say about procedure. When the doors opened, they would meet with the first guard. The MI-6 agents instructed everyone on how to proceed to get through the guards. When the elevator stopped at the fifth floor, one of the foreign affairs people looked to Malcolm and Ollie. “Good luck, everyone.” The elevator dinged and the door opened. The group disembarked and realized as the doors closed behind, that there were no guards in the hallway to meet them. 

Malcolm tensed instinctively. Ollie looked over at him just before the power cut out to the floor. There was no light and no sound, not even a faint beep of hospital monitors. 

Someone shoved Ollie and Malcolm towards the emergency stairwell. Neither questioned the shove and stumbled onto the landing. Only the emergency lights lit the stairwell, but looking down through the railings, showed lower levels had full use of their lights. Just as Ollie opened his mouth to say something, someone forced a chemical soaked cloth over Ollie’s face. He struggled, but succumbed to the depressant. 

Ollie could hear water and seagulls. He had a mild headache from the chemical. The floor against his body was cold, smooth and hard. He slowly opened his eyes. He could see ribbed walls and a gaping hole in a corner near the ceiling that let in minimal lighting. He could hear slow, shallow breathing next to him. Everything smelled like pollution and ocean. Ollie found his glasses on his chest, picking them up gently before sitting up to assess his surroundings properly. The longer he looked, the more he knew he was inside a shipping container. Ollie stood up and carefully walked around. Someone removed the interior door handle to the container. There was no food, water, or supplies. Ollie reached into his pockets, but his phone was gone. Ollie let out a small sigh. He could feel panic threatening. 

Malcolm still laid on the floor. He let out a faint groan before rolling on his back. After a long moment, Malcolm sat up and blinked a few times before reaching into an interior pocket of his coat. Malcolm slipped on his own pair of glasses. When he stood up there was a crunch under his feet and he swore something about contacts. Malcolm’s attention soon turned to Ollie. “Where the fuck are we?” he asked, his voice echoing. 

“Near the ocean. We don’t seem to be moving,” Ollie answered. 

Malcolm’s eyes scanned the container. He relaxed slightly at the sight of the hole at the top. “Those bastards, those fucking cunts,” he seethed. Malcolm rushed to the door and started to make a great amount of noise, smacking the door, shouting out at anyone who might hear outside, but it became clear that there was nothing that could hear them nearby that could help their situation. 

The commotion set Ollie’s nerves on edge the longer it lasted. “Malcolm – Malcolm, stop!” Ollie reached out and grabbed Malcolm’s wrist. His grip tightened when Malcolm tried to pull away. “Malcolm, look at me. Just calm down. Getting excited isn’t going to help.” He spoke to his own nerves as well as Malcolm’s. “We need to think.”

Malcolm held Ollie’s gaze. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he said. Without removing his wrist from Ollie’s grasp, Malcolm pushed Ollie against the door and pinned him in place with their arms. He pulled himself to his full height and leaned in to keep Ollie’s full attention. “For all we know we’re hiding in a fucking obvious place. Maybe people can actually hear us. I’m not going to stand around here and piss in a corner before I finally snap and pull your intestines through your navel so I can have a rope to climb out that hole to get the fuck out of here.” 

Ollie held Malcolm’s gaze for a long moment, waiting to see if Malcolm had more to vent. “Do you feel better?” he asked. 

Malcolm finally looked away and pulled his wrist free from Ollie’s grasp. “No.” He took a few steps back away from Ollie. His shoulders were still tense, but the frenzy, for now, was gone. “At least we know they only want us to starve not suffocate.” 

“Or it’s only for a short time,” Ollie said. He took his glasses off to wipe them down carefully before putting them back on his nose. 

Malcolm checked his suit pockets. “I don’t have my wallet or my mobile.” 

Ollie checked his own pockets. “All I have is my handkerchief.” 

There was a very slight noise from Malcolm’s right trouser pocket. He nodded. “Me too,” he said and pulled his hands out of his trouser pockets. 

They worked in their own ways about the container, assessing it. The only structural fault was the hole that provided light and air circulation. Any safety mechanisms designed to open the door from the inside were missing. There was nothing effective to wedge the door open either and their combined strength did not work. The light began to fade as the sun set somewhere outside. The wind picked up with the encroaching twilight. The smell of the ocean became stronger and the container colder. Ollie’s stomach began to rumble first and Malcolm’s soon responded. Neither spoke. Ollie’s mind filled with thoughts about water and food. He suspected Malcolm thought similarly. 

Ollie and Malcolm gravitated towards one another, instinctively attracted to the warmth of the other. They stood in the centre of the container with their shoulders almost touching, keeping aware of the other’s position as the light greatly diminished. Malcolm touched Ollie’s arm before stepping to his right. “We need to be prepared,” he said. He led them to a corner by the door that was opposite the corner at the far end of the container that was the latrine. “They might come back tonight.”

Ollie pulled his coat tighter and followed. “If they made demands, nobody will capitulate that quickly, not even that greasy fuck of an ambassador to keep from looking bad.”

Malcolm sat down near the door. There was a tiny, tiny draft when the wind blew towards the door. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter. 

Ollie sat down beside Malcolm, a platonic distance between them. He was just close enough to use Malcolm as a shield if he had to. They sat in silence for a long, long time until Malcolm checked his watch and fished into his right trouser pocket. 

“I knew you had something in there,” Ollie said. 

“Shut up,” Malcolm said. He popped open a tablet bottle and fished into it with his fingers. He placed two of the tablets on his tongue and shut the bottle back up, putting it back in his pocket. 

“Promise me that’s legal,” Ollie said. His posture stiffened and he leaned slightly away from Malcolm. Trapped in a shipping container with Malcolm was one level of horror. Trapped in a shipping container with Malcolm in an altered state filled him with fresh dread. 

“It’s a fucking beta blocker,” Malcolm said. “I’m not going to start imagining mushrooms ripping out of the floor to carry us to the nearest opium den where some whore will tell us our futures are fucked because she has three nipples on her right tit.”

“Are you okay?” Ollie asked. He tried not to create a mental picture out of Malcolm’s statement.

Malcolm dry swallowed the tablets one at a time, using his tongue to keep from swallowing both at the same time. “Yeah,” he said. 

“Then can you not be you for a while?” Ollie asked. “Or at least not this version of you.” He stretched his legs out. 

“This is me,” Malcolm said. He did quiet. Neither had anything to say to each other. Ollie knew that Malcolm was just aware that they had to conserve their energy for the next period of daylight to try to escape.

As the night progressed, there were occasional sounds of boats in the distance. Everything felt stationary. Sometimes they could hear rats trying to figure out how to enter the container, but the rats had yet to break through. The moon lit parts of the interior of the container as it slipped between clouds. 

Ollie did not know when he fell asleep, but when he woke, his head was leaning against the back of the container and he could hear Malcolm messing with the tablet bottle quietly. “What time is it?”

“Seven in London,” Malcolm said, “two here.” He put his tablets back in his pocket. He started to check his watch obsessively about once every ten to fifteen minutes after that. 

“Do you have some kind of deal with our kidnappers?” Ollie asked. It was hard to sleep with Malcolm’s watch illuminating so often. 

“No,” Malcolm said. He did not elaborate, but he did keep checking. Once his watch said it was eight o’clock back home, he stopped checking and rested the back of his head against the side of the container with a stressed sigh. 

“Your daughter’s going to call you soon, isn’t she?” Ollie asked. He did not receive an answer. Ollie thought about the fact Malcolm was on a beta-blocker. It indicated not just high blood pressure, but possibly a deeper condition. The last thing Ollie wanted was to spend time in this container with a dead body or have to figure out first aid for a heart attack. “Is Jamie watching her?”

“No,” Malcolm said. “My niece is.” He rubbed his face. “They’re going to call my mobile in ten minutes. Might end up talking to the cunts who did this.”

“They’re going to be fine,” Ollie said in a firm voice, trying to sound believable. 

“I’m not going to fall over clutching my chest and foaming at the mouth, because some cunts are about to fucking terrify my family,” Malcolm said in annoyance. He changed the position of his legs, bending one of them at the knee. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been a hostage.” 

Ollie looked over in Malcolm’s direction then curiously. He could barely see Malcolm. “When were you a hostage?”

Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. After a long moment, he decided to answer the question properly, “Ten years ago, these terrorists took over our hotel to try and hold someone hostage who wasn’t even fucking there.” Malcolm frowned. 

Ollie remembered it. During economic protests, a group took hold of a hotel in Europe. There was a rumour that a pop star had a room in it, but the terrorists took the hotel over before the singer could check into it. Things went from tense to critical once the terrorists figured out their ideal hostage was not present. It ended up on international television. “How did you survive?” Ollie asked. Anything to pass the time. 

Malcolm suddenly tensed. His hand moved as if he wanted to tell Ollie it was not any of his business. After a moment, he decided on an answer fitting of the situation at hand. “By doing the correct things, remembering how much I wanted to survive.” He let his wrists move in slow circles to take away some of the tension. “I want to survive this,” he said in a quiet, tired voice. 

“You should sleep,” Ollie said. “We don’t know what’s coming.” He wondered if Malcolm was awake the entire time Ollie was asleep earlier. “I’ll stay awake.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Malcolm murmured. 

They lapsed into silence and after a while, Ollie could hear Malcolm’s breathing even out. Hearing the ocean made Ollie’s hunger feel hollow and did not help the duet between Ollie’s stomach and Malcolm’s stomach beside him. 

The sun began to lighten the container about the same time Malcolm woke hours later. The door was still stuck. The hole at the top of the container was too small for either of them to escape. Malcolm oscillated between standing and sitting in front of the main door, trying to think of a solution. “There has to be a way to get through that fucker,” Malcolm said. “Some kind of safety release.” His stomach stopped rumbling hours ago. Ollie’s had only just stopped rumbling. 

Ollie walked over slowly and looked at the door. Holes where an interior handle should be were welded shut. The door had indentations and areas that jutted out. “What if they’ve chained us in?”

Malcolm tried to beat on the door, force it to show any kind of lurking weakness. His efforts returned nothing. Malcolm let out a mumbled string of unintelligible curse words in frustration and checked the time on his watch. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his medicine. Malcolm stared into the bottle and counted the tablets. He had more than enough, but he kept track to make sure his brain still functioned properly. He took out one tablet out at a time this time, dry swallowing each separately with much concentration. The second tablet moved down his throat awkwardly and Malcolm began to cough violently. Malcolm reached out, placing a hand on the door to steady himself, and worked to move the tablet farther down his oesophagus by swallowing between coughs. 

Ollie smacked Malcolm strategically on the back with what strength he could muster. There was a few more coughs and then Malcolm looked like he was no longer distressed. 

“Jesus. Fuck,” Malcolm said as he recovered. He took in a few deep breaths. He put the tablet bottle back in his pocket. 

“Dehydration,” Ollie said, but he knew instinctively it was worse than that. He reached out and placed his fingertips on Malcolm’s forehead briefly. “No fever, but there will be.”

Malcolm swatted the hand away weakly. “I’m fine.” 

“You choked on your medicine because your mouth is too dry to swallow anything,” Ollie said. “The last time we had anything to eat or drink was over twenty-four hours ago.” They both knew each other’s symptoms. The corner designated the latrine had pale, foamy vomit in it more than any excrement now. 

“I said, ‘I’m fucking fine,’” Malcolm said in a firm voice, a warning voice. 

“And I said you’re not,” Ollie said in a very similar voice. Ollie was certain that Malcolm would advance more rapidly. He knew neither of them were young enough to advance slowly. 

Malcolm moved forward slowly, keeping his head perfectly still. He pulled himself to his full height and stepped into Ollie’s bubble, finger on Ollie’s chest. Every movement seemed so much slower than normal. It was almost disorienting. “Don’t fuck with me. You’re just a garden snake that thinks it’s an asp wearing a Brillo pad. You…” Malcolm’s voice trailed as his mind blanked. He kept the dominant posture, but whatever he planned to say vanished. His eyebrows drew together and then he removed his finger and took a step away from Ollie.

“Just rest,” Ollie said. “Is it really going to help you to try and assert your dominance right now?” 

Malcolm rubbed his face. “It’s like that time in my office,” Malcolm murmured. He retreated to the corner they huddled in during the night. He leaned against the wall and looked at Ollie. “The appendicitis.”

“I don’t remember you being so slow,” Ollie said. He stayed where he was. “We were talking about strategy, and then…” Ollie tried to remember, “I woke up in the hospital and it was over.”

“That’s because you fucking fainted,” Malcolm said. “Fucking terrifying.” He took a deep breath and pulled his coat tighter. He shivered a little. 

“And that’s why you brought the flowers,” Ollie said, “because you were the one who called 999. You actually were worried.” It was such a ludicrous realisation. 

Malcolm tried to remember. “Something like that.” He slid down the wall and sat roughly on the floor with both his knees bent. He rubbed his forehead. “We’re past the half-way point,” he said. 

“Until what?” Ollie asked. He knew they were at least half way to death without water. He wondered how much faster that would happen with a lack of food compounding the situation. 

“Rescue or supplies,” Malcolm said. “I told you, I’m going to fucking survive. It’s a mental game.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. 

Ollie sighed. A shiver through his entire body as though he could not regulate his own body temperature. Ollie decided to sit down near Malcolm. Ollie could almost feel Malcolm’s body heat, reminding him that they were the only warm objects in the container. The more Malcolm and Ollie sat together, the more they instinctively drew closer together, but still kept a space between each other. 

The light in the compartment dimmed when Ollie shivered again. He felt cold and sluggish. He was close enough to Malcolm now they were almost touching. Malcolm stirred and then he checked his watch. It was six hours since the last tablet attempt. 

“You’re going to choke on them,” Ollie said. His own mouth was certainly too dry. He could only imagine how dry Malcolm’s must be. 

“It takes weeks to come down from them,” Malcolm said. He fumbled with the bottle in his pocket. “Stop suddenly and I could stop my heart.”

“After one missed dose?” Ollie asked. 

Malcolm struggled with the cap. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Fuck.” He took a moment, a deep breath, and then he opened the childproof lock on the bottle. Malcolm grew quiet, trying to summon whatever saliva he could manage. 

Ollie did not know what was going to be worse, Malcolm choking again or having to deal with Malcolm’s dead body. “They gave them to you knowing you wouldn’t be able to swallow them after a certain point,” he said. Ollie wondered if it was to increase suffering or to ensure Malcolm would survive to this point and beyond. 

Malcolm carefully snapped the tablets in half along a small grove. He worked to swallow half of one tablet. His nose wrinkled and his expression soured. He spit the tablet back out. “I can’t fucking swallow it.” Malcolm tossed the tablet bottle across the width of the container in frustration. They both heard the bottle connect with the floor and roll away into the darkness. “Fuck.” 

Ollie grabbed Malcolm’s arm before Malcolm could try to stand. “Don’t. Just leave it.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Malcolm said, but he did not stand. It would just waste energy. They still did not know who would find them if anyone before they went three days without water. Malcolm settled. The sides of their legs touched now. Ollie’s hand had not moved from Malcolm’s arm where it was warmer than how they were sitting earlier. Slowly, they leaned against one another and lapsed into silence. 

Ollie was tired, exhausted. He slipped in and out of sleep. Everything inside and outside of his body felt dry, irritated. Every time he was awake, he thought Malcolm was asleep. Their arms were linked together loosely at the elbow now, keeping the warmth of the other as close as comfortable. The sun came up, marking almost forty-eight hours since their last meal. 

After an indeterminate time, Malcolm stirred. His free hand moved and rested against his chest. He began to breathe deliberately slowly. His eyes were still closed, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. 

“Malcolm, don’t you fucking dare,” Ollie said. His grip on Malcolm’s arm tightened instinctively. 

“Right, because I can just will a heart attack away,” Malcolm murmured. His eyes opened and his free hand fell limp at his side. “It’s just racing. Probably low blood pressure.”

“That’s a sign,” Ollie said and paused, “I think.” He felt like a racing heartbeat was a symptom of a heart attack, but he also felt confused and uncertain. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Malcolm said. “I know what a fucking attack feels like.” He leaned against the wall and Ollie and little more. He continued to breathe deeply. He closed his eyes. 

A tense silence passed between them. “Talk to me, Malcolm,” Ollie said. 

“I’m not dying,” Malcolm said. “Neither are you.”

“Humour me,” Ollie said. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Malcolm pushed his glasses up his forehead to rub at the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He put his glasses back where they belonged. “Water,” Malcolm said. “Those stupid containers of water in the break room that are taller than a small child.”

“Bad idea,” Ollie said. He became even more aware of his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and the perseveration about his own thirst in his mind. 

“I’m thinking about summers spent at lochs,” Malcolm said. “Fountains, rivers –”

“Goddammit, Malcolm,” Ollie said. “Now you’re just being a bastard.”

Malcolm let out a breathy chuckle that turned into coughing. When the coughing passed, he said, “The last time I talked to you extensively, I lost my fucking job.”

“I know,” Ollie said. “That was the plan.” He sighed, too tired to lie. “Even before that awful woman, that was the plan.”

“Tom had almost talked me into retiring,” Malcolm said. “I’d vouched for you as my successor.” He closed his eyes again. His breathing quickened. 

“Don’t get angry,” Ollie said. “It was a long time ago.”

“I’m not angry,” Malcolm said. “I need the fucking tablets.” 

Ollie looked out at the shipping container. It seemed so much bigger than it did when they first arrived. He could see the tablets scattered about the floor. The bottle and its lid were far away from each other. The bottle seemed too far to get to just in case there were tablets that had not spilled. “They’ll probably give you a bacterial something or other now.” 

Malcolm glowered at the tablets, visibly debating trying to swallow at least one of them. He remained seated. After a while, he said in his quiet voice, “I can’t die.”

It took Ollie a moment to realize that Malcolm did not mean he was literally immortal. He looked at Malcolm’s profile. 

“I can’t do that to her,” Malcolm said. 

“To your daughter,” Ollie clarified. It was still a strange concept to him, Malcolm the father of anyone. 

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. “When Sam died,” he paused, “I decided I’d get her to twenty. I have to make it to at least eighty-fucking-two,” he said. He did not use his daughter’s name like he never used his niece’s name when he would reference her. 

“Why Sam?” Ollie asked before he realized he would ask it. His throbbing headache made it hard to think through what he might say. 

Malcolm stretched his legs out stiffly and repositioned them. “It’s none of your fucking business,” he said. 

“I know, I didn’t mean to ask it,” Ollie said. His eyes travelled the indentations of the door. It looked even more impenetrable from the inside than it had since their ordeal began. 

After a long silence, Malcolm said, “Sam lost her job when I lost mine. She was the only person involved who didn’t have to or didn’t choose to distance themselves after the inquiry. Five years later, we were on the fucking honeymoon from hell.” 

After a moment, Ollie realized Malcolm meant the hotel incident. The silence between them stretched. “We’re going to get out of this,” Ollie said, remembering what Malcolm said about part of survival being mental. He was starting to feel like as long as he believed they would survive, they just might. Ollie tried to ignore common sense and scientific fact filtering in and out of his mind. They had one more twenty-four hour period, maybe shorter or longer depending. 

“Yeah,” Malcolm agreed. He kept their arms hooked, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets for extra warmth. “What about you?” he asked. 

“Do you even care?” Ollie asked. He stifled a yawn and wrinkled his nose at how little give his skin had to it. He felt like a rubber band that was too taut. 

“I doubt you cared either. The goal is to stay awake now. We both know that,” Malcolm said. He sounded like he was still working to steady palpitations. 

Ollie did not know if they could stay awake. Malcolm’s face just made Ollie feel even more exhausted. He was not sure what they were avoiding by staying awake. His brain concentrated as best it could on the answer, how to word it carefully. “There have been people,” Ollie said. “I keep it to myself. The last thing Dan needs is a cock up.” He moved his legs and made a noise of discomfort at the pins and needles. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Again, silence. Ollie did not realize his eyes had closed until Malcolm nudged him. “Why do we have to stay awake?” Ollie asked. 

“I don’t want to be a coma patient,” Malcolm said. 

“That’s a concussion,” Ollie said. He adjusted his arm around Malcolm’s arm so it laid more comfortably. It was one of the last things he would remember doing in the shipping container.

When Ollie really registered his eyes were open again, the light was too bright. His nose stung with the smell of faint chemicals. He could hear rhythmic beeping beside him. He was alone in the hospital room, but there was a guard outside. The medical staff told Ollie that he was in their care for twelve hours now. They could not divulge anything about Malcolm beyond the fact he was in another section of the hospital recovering. Ollie’s body soaked up fluids like a sponge. His skin began to feel less dry and his tongue no longer stuck to his mouth. When the doctors cleared him for discharge a few days later, two agents intercepted Ollie and debriefed him to the situation. 

Ollie’s flight was still not for five more hours. He stopped by one of the shops in the hospital and then went to Malcolm’s room in the cardiac care unit. After being cleared by the guard at the door, he knocked on the doorframe. He could hear the sound of the bedside telephone receiver placed back in its cradle. 

“I’m not going to fucking stop you coming in,” Malcolm said. 

Ollie moved into the room. “It sounds like you’re back to normal,” Ollie said. It did not look like Malcolm was back to normal. While Malcolm’s skin looked much better, his eyes were still sunken and he looked almost as exhausted as he had in the container. 

Malcolm’s bed was set up so he could sit up comfortably. Malcolm’s eyes scanned Ollie’s face and then travelled along, down to Ollie’s hand. “You’re not usually so sentimental.”

Ollie looked at the flowers he had brought. They were petunias and came with a small vase. Their colour reminded him of the flowers Malcolm brought when Ollie had his appendicitis. The selection of flowers was lacking since there were only flowers that produced a small amount or no airborne pollen available. Ollie placed the vase on the bedside table near the telephone where it would not be accidentally knocked over. “Why not? I might even let you keep them.” He could feel Malcolm’s eyes never leave him. Ollie looked away from the flowers and down at Malcolm. “They’ve told me what happened and tried to explain why.”

“Don’t spare me,” Malcolm said. “I need to know why I’m a fucking cyborg now.” 

Ollie noticed the pacemaker monitor then. In the debriefing, the agents covered many things except details that pertained to Malcolm that Ollie did not need to know. Ollie sat in the chair beside Malcolm’s hospital bed and adjusted his glasses on his face. “It was a trap,” Ollie said, “set up by the prince. He wanted Dan to back his ‘legitimacy’ for rule.” Ollie leaned forward, keeping his voice between the two of them. “The king did want to surrender to you. He was going to give up control.” 

Malcolm’s jaw tensed. He stretched his legs under the blankets. “It was an assassination, wasn’t it? Decapitate the head and then fuck us over for leverage.” 

“That’s the assumption,” Ollie said. “The prince claimed he instructed his men to leave us with access to water.”

Malcolm’s face contorted at the lie. “MI-6 probably claimed they didn’t know how to find us. More like didn’t want to fucking find us and admit to any of this.”

Ollie nodded. “I’ve talked to Dan since. He said when your niece couldn’t get you to answer your mobile, she let Jamie loose. I think we both know that people didn’t move until he threatened to expose the situation.”

Malcolm let out a deep breath. He leaned against the back of the bed and kept watching Ollie. He was on guard, but trying not to be too tense. “I never want to do that ever again. If anyone wants me to negotiate something, I will tug on one of their ears until I catch a bit of their brain and then I will pull their brain through their ear canal until it unravels like a fucking jumper.”

Ollie did not know how to respond to that. The silence between the pair was oddly comfortable this time. Ollie glanced at the clock on the wall. “Do you need anything? I fly out in a few hours,” Ollie said. 

Malcolm shook his head. “I just need to get out of here,” he said. 

Ollie stood up and offered a hand, which Malcolm took. “Goodbye, Malcolm.”

Malcolm’s grip was tight. “Goodbye, Ollie.”

The corners of Ollie’s lips turned upward briefly at the use of his name. He let go. “Don’t give the nurses too many problems.” He headed out of the room and down the hall. He still had a guard to accompany him wherever he went just in case. Ollie wanted to go home and put the entire ordeal behind him. He wanted to stop checking behind him for anyone lurking. He wanted to forget the feel of cold and concrete. Ollie knew he would not be able to go to the ocean and listen to the surf without anxiety for a long time, if not the rest of his life.

  
**The End**


End file.
